THROUGH THE TRAPDOOR
“Hermione!”
“Harry — you’re a great wizard, you know.”
“I’m not as good as you,” said Harry, very embarrassed, as she let
go of him.
“Me!” said Hermione. “Books! And cleverness! There are more
important things — friendship and bravery and — oh Harry —
be careful !”
“You drink first,” said Harry. “You are sure which is which, aren’t
you?”
“Positive,” said Hermione. She took a long drink from the
round bottle at the end, and shuddered.
“It’s not poison?” said Harry anxiously.
“No — but it’s like ice.”
“Quick, go, before it wears off.”
“Good luck — take care —”
“GO!”
Hermione turned and walked straight through the purple fire.
Harry took a deep breath and picked up the smallest bottle. He
turned to face the black flames.
“Here I come,” he said, and he drained the little bottle in one
gulp.
It was indeed as though ice was flooding his body. He put the
bottle down and walked forward; he braced himself, saw the black
flames licking his body, but couldn’t feel them — for a moment he
could see nothing but dark fire — then he was on the other side, in
the last chamber.
There was already someone there — but it wasn’t Snape. It
wasn’t even Voldemort.
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